


Gone

by VTC



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magic Revealed, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3088085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VTC/pseuds/VTC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana and Merlin have been gone for a year. Morgana is found by Arthur and the Knights, wandering in the woods, but she is disturbingly silent about the whereabouts of Merlin. He seemed to have just vanished. He was gone, and not knowing whether he was alive or dead was not good enough for Arthur. He would find him.</p><p>THIS STORY IS ON HIATUS. I am not calling it abandoned yet, but it's definitely on hold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Merlin.
> 
> AU Tag to 2x12.
> 
> *Literal translation = Control/guide us from there. Warriors of Medhir, your souls. Ready (you) again and destroy again.  
> **Literal translation = Conceal us! Control/guide us from thence/away there/towards/moving thence!
> 
> Spells and translations taken from: http://merlin.wikia.com/wiki/Spells

Morgana tried to focus on the cold stone beneath her knees and the sharp ripping sound created by her hands. It was in this repetitive task that she found some comfort from the distress of their situation.  _Why was she awake and well? And why did Merlin focus on her in that way?_

Her eyes fell upon the prone form of the King just behind his own throne. It looked wrong, and  _right_ , seeing him stretched upon the floor helpless and unconscious. Her gut twisted guiltily as the two concepts fought each other in her mind.  _He deserved what he got._  The more cruel of the two voices rose up over the soft voice that tried to remind her that he was her guardian who had long loved her.

She squeezed her eyes closed willing the mental argument to cease.  _Morgause was here... But, why?_  The last she remembered before waking into this nightmare was her blonde half-sister asking her to pick a side... And she had...  _She had._ Her eyes went back to the King, and fell cold on him.  _She wanted him to end. She wanted this to be his end.. But..._  She was jolted out of the hate circulating in her chest as she looked at Uther when the far-off sounds of steel on steel and a grunt of exhaustion from the Prince reached her ears.  _Arthur._  She did not want him to die.

_This was not the way. Not as she wanted it._

She was dimly aware that Merlin had been offering her the water-skin, but she felt sick. She did not want to drink. She just wanted to sit here and rip this cloth in her hands to steady the uneasiness of her dueling loyalties.

"You have some before I finish it all." Merlin said leaning down to her, his soft blue eyes dampened with sweat and redness. Sweet Merlin, a friend to all, who had endeared himself to everyone in such a short time.

The way he raised his eyebrows at her, imploring her to drink. The way he cared for her, when she knew his heart was pounding faster with every yell, grunt, and sound of Arthur's exertion drifting back to them through the empty halls of the castle.

His calm was a balm to her tremulous thoughts, and she smiled up at him and nodded her assent - taking the skin from him and drinking it down before handing it back to him. "Thank you."

She offered him the smallest of smiles as she resumed her task of ripping the cloth - falling back into the familiar but temporary comfort of it. The cool water offering its own soothing quality as it washed through her.

But her young friend's features had changed, almost imperceptibly, as her turned his back to her. His face showed pain... And anticipation?

_Why is he...-cough-_

She went back to her task, taking her eyes off his back, suddenly feeling the slow creep of anxiety. Merlin's odd gaze had unseated her comfort somehow, more than their current peril.

Her blood increased its pace in her veins and she gasped. She looked again to Merlin, wanting to see the loving calm of his eyes to bring herself back down to a more manageable level.

But when Merlin turned to face her, it afforded her no comfort. She felt like her insides were rearranging themselves under her skin. Her lungs began to labor, and to her horror, shut down.

Her heart that had been so vehemently propelling her blood through her body was now stuttering and palpitating as if it could no longer be bothered to keep a consistent rhythm. Her hand flew up to her chest, as if she was afraid it might leave her. That is what it felt like. Her chest, where her heart and lungs dwelled was abandoning her, and her gasps were becoming closer and more desperate.

Her eyes followed Merlin's body as he knelt down in front of her, reaching his hands out to her, his sweaty face was strained yet impassive. She could not help but look at the water-skin clutched tightly in his hands. Merlin's gentle hands that, to Morgana, seemed like healing hands. The hands of a man who would help others always before himself. A protector's hands.

It was in this moment that Morgana realized those hands were not the hands of a healer. Those soft fingers had inflicted poison upon her, and even now as they reached out to hold her, all she could do was try to rasp out a breath and try to rebel against his hold. She had no words, and she was not even sure her spluttering lungs could support any words if she had them.

Her eyes searched his for two impossibly long moments. Begging for the answer to her question...  _Why?_

But he did not bend, and her body traitorously slumped sideways into his cradling arms. She both loathed his warm and sweaty arms around her, and craved it. It was as if this was all just some dream. Merlin had not poisoned her. He was going to save her. Care for her. Heal her with those hands.

Her eyes slipped closed and she fell limp against him.

*****

_How do I stop her?_

_That is easy, young Warlock. You must kill her._

There are so many reasons one might say 'no'. So many benign and unimportant reasons to utter the unassuming word. But this time it was important. It was so important. It was the verbal shell that held the immediate rejection of the dragons words. Merlin choked the word into the air between himself and Kilgharrah, wanting to give the idea back - the knowledge he no longer wanted, but that was clinging to his thoughts.

Merlin, thought about the word 'no' when he turned his back to Morgana, and it seemed to echo through him like he was nothing but an empty cavern - cold, damp, and detached.

_No, no, no, no, no_.

One cough. One cough and two gasps, and his wrecked blue eyes failed him. A tear escaped, and in that moment, he wanted to reclaim all the 'no's' he had ever uttered and exchange them for this one final 'no' that would allow him to take back what he had just done.  _Morgana..._

He swiped the tear away and turned to her. Steeling himself to face her, because in his haze of grief and determination, he owed her that. Her sharp breaths were tight and echoing within the high room, and he felt them ringing through him. But it was when he looked in her eyes, that his heart splintered with her every gasp.

The dim sounds of Arthur fighting the immortal knights is the only thing that propelled him forward, down to his knees to reach out and grab the shoulders of his dying friend. He wanted there to be words between them, he wanted her to understand why he had killed her. It was for Arthur. Always for Arthur. Though, this time the rest of the kingdom also hung in the balance. Every innocent child or grandparent, or mother, or father, or sibling, or lord or lady in the kingdom, all weighed on him, and he gripped Morgana tightly, willing his hands to transmit this burden to her so she would see.  _He had to do it._

He searched her eyes in those impossibly long moments while her high-pitched ragged squeaks stabbed at him. He wanted to see the betrayal she must have been feeling. He wanted to feel the cold of it, to be punished by her gaze. Betrayal was an emotion that was based in anger. Sadness, also, but it was the anger that Merlin wanted to see... Not this disbelief, fear, and pain that her eyes were showing him now. She did not oblige and only continued to taunt him with her pleading and saddened eyes.

Why was it always death that came from the dragon? Kill Mordred... Kill Uther... Kill Morgana... Was this how it was always to be? In order to save his Prince he must sacrifice all others? How can a destiny that appeared on the surface to be rooted in goals of peace and acceptance have such a mortality rate. And why was it down to him to impose it?

He held Morgana close to his chest. She was still now, and for the love of Camelot, and the love of Arthur, he fleetingly wished he was following her into the poisoned oblivion.

*****

Morgause's large brown eyes clouded over. The unbalanced battle between her conjured Knights of Medhir and the Prince of Camelot was now moving far from her thoughts.

Her mind was consumed with a slipping sensation. It was as if her magic that she had lent out was now coming back to her in slow and steady waves - returning home. But the undercurrent of those waves carried with it a sense of breathlessness, of labor, and fear.

She blinked slowly against the dreaded sensation, reaching out with her magic to inspect the unnatural feeling, and she found the consciousness of her half-sister declining.

The magic that had been clinging to Morgana on her command was now releasing itself, abandoning the vessel to return to Morgause's more life-giving form.

The fear that had attached itself to her returning magic was now gripping her, and she blindly pushed past the powerful Knights, and the waning Prince to reach her sister, who she was certain, was close to death.

The door to the throne room was thrown away from its hinges with an explosion of sorcery and at once she was running towards her still sister who was supported in the arms of a servant.

She snatched Morgana from the servant's grasp, cradling her to her chest. Her magic was reaching out and touching, tasting, trying to sense the life within her, and Morgause almost cried out when she felt that there was still breath and magic there inside her perishing sister.

"What has he done to you?"

"I had to," Merlin breathed.

"You poisoned her." Her rage that lived so near the surface of her skin gave way to sudden disbelief at the reason behind Morgana's state.

"You gave me no choice." Merlin had risen to his feet and backed away from the sisters, removing himself from what he had done.

"Tell me what you used, and I can save her." Morgause was now looking down at her pale sister with anguish.

"First, stop the attack!" Merlin had found his voice. If he was to murder his friend, it would not be for nothing. He would get Camelot back and save his Prince from a death that was likely very near.

"You're nothing but a simple servant. You don't tell me what to do!" Morgause's temper was flaring in her desperation and shock at the man's words.

"If you want to know what poison it is, you will undo the magic that drives the knights!"

"Tell me the poison, or you'll die!"

"Then she'll die with me." Merlin's voice was final and deadly, though his eyes landed subtly on his friend's face and the pain of his words hit him.

Morgause pressed her forehead down against Morgana's before looking to Merlin again as he spoke...

"I don't want this any more than you, but you give me no choice. Stop the Knights and you can save her."

Morgause took pause only for a moment before she began to undo the enchantment that controlled the deadly knights.

_"Astyre us thanonweard! Cnihtas Medhires, eower sawlas. Rid eft ond forsleah eft!"*_

Dimly, Merlin could hear the cessation of combat, and he felt the noose on his heart loosen now that he was almost certain of Arthur's safety.

Morgause looked up at him, her eyes reddening with the tears that had yet to fall for her sister. Her gaze was one of desperation and Merlin, true to his word, reached into his pocket and removed the now-empty bottle of Hemlock and offered it to the blonde witch.

She reached up tentatively to claim it from him, when her gauntleted hand clamped tightly around his, pinning the bottle between them. He felt a surge of fire shoot up through his arm as if the cool metal of her armor was now melding itself hotly to his palm.

He jerked back in reflex, but found the grasp unyielding to his efforts. Panic crystallized in his stomach just as Arthur burst through the door. It was odd, in that moment, to feel warmth spread through him at seeing the Prince safe, while at the same time realizing that the blonde witch had him in an impossible hold.

He was left little time to marvel at the competing emotions when Arthur caught sight of Morgana sprawled in Morgause's lap. "Morgana!" he yelled, his blade raising threateningly.

"Keep away from her!" Morgause warned, and Uther stirred in the background.

Arthur's eyes found his father's, and his relief at the sight was instant.

Morgause had seized the momentary opportunity to begin calling her magic forth again. She clutched Morgana to her chest and gave Merlin a wicked glance filled with promise and pain.

_"Bedyrene us! Astyre us thanonweard!"**_

"Merlin!" Arthur screamed as the bright flash of Morgause's spell filled the room.

Merlin felt like his body had shattered away from him, and he was drifting, if possible, in nothingness.

But the sensation was only to last a moment and his knees met suddenly with the cold stone floor of an unfamiliar room. Morgause had taken Merlin with them.


	2. I Find You're Gone

In the seconds before the magical departure of the clustered trio, Arthur tore his eyes from Morgana's prone form to meet his those of his servant. Only then did he realize that the peril of the situation was double what he initially thought. Time stopped as the two men stared at each other. Merlin looked terrified and filled with regret. It was as if his eyes were begging the Prince for forgiveness, and the blonde could not imagine what had put such a look upon his face. But then time slammed back into action.

"Merlin!" Arthur screamed before he realized, too late, that the witch had a hold on him, and they had disappeared.

Arthur rushed forward, his sword still at the ready, as he skidded into the spot that had previously been occupied by the witch and her victims...  _No_...  _They're gone._ Arthur stared blankly at the empty space at his feet and then looked to his father, the sweat still dripping from his hair down his face and neck into his armor.

He wasn't sure if he was looking to his King to see that he was safe, or looking to his father for some measure of comfort and assurance that the last member of his family remained un-vanished. Their eyes met - Uther reluctantly tearing his gaze from the spot where Morgana had lay, to look into the Prince's face - his features cold and drawn.

"Find her." Uther said as he put one foot in front of the other and passed his son without a second glance.

"Yes, Sire." Arthur said, his voice lower than he had intended.

The sense of duty and adrenaline that had kept the Prince upright and his sword aloft was now abandoning him. The guards that previously flanked his entry had left with the King and he was alone in the room. The tip of his sword landed on the floor with the sharp sound of steel on stone. He looked down and realized that his arm had dropped, and the sword was hanging useless at his side.

He turned his hand with the sound of strained leather, still gripping the hilt, studying it.  _What use is this against such evil?_  He suddenly felt drained and exhausted and the small part of him that was just a man, a son, and a friend wanted to give up and sit here on this floor.

He shunted this lesser part of himself down and compartmentalized it somewhere away from his thoughts. He hoisted and sheathed his sword, lifted his chin, and brought purpose back to his eyes as he turned on his heel to leave this room that suddenly felt heavy with emptiness.

*****

He strode purposefully towards the Knight's quarters intent on gathering them and beginning their pursuit. He was strategically mapping Camelot in his mind, deciding where to begin and how best to pattern his search of both the upper and lower town in short order. There was a nagging sensation hovering over his plans that told him he would be wasting his time. They will not have lingered here, and he knew it. Though, he also knew his father would not tolerate leaving any stone un-turned in the search for his beloved ward, so Arthur pressed mentally onward with his careful gridding of the city.

Arthur was just about to round the corner through the armory and into the barracks when Leon, fully armored and cloaked fell into step beside him.

"The men are gathering in the courtyard, Sire." Leon said has he walked to the Prince's side.

Arthur did not break stride, he only adjusted his direction to head toward the stone yard. He assumed that someone had already told Leon of Morgana's disappearance, and that is why the Knight had acted so quickly. He glanced at Leon and noted that he still looked like he was recovering just like everyone else - sweaty and still a little dazed - but here he was and Arthur was grateful.

Leon had only recently been promoted through the Knight's ranks, and so far Arthur had been pleased with the appointment. He had known Leon for ages, but having the ever-loyal man at his right hand, especially at this moment when he felt slightly cold and unnaturally empty, meant more to Arthur than he would ever be able to (or dare to) express.

"Where's Merlin?" Leon's voice bullied its way into Arthur's thoughts and Arthur turned his head sharply at the question to look at Leon before he schooled his face back into a calm that was completely forced.

"He's gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes. Morgause took not just Morgana." Arthur felt his chest constrict and he tightened his lips into a line at the sensation. Of course, whoever had told Leon of the Lady Morgana's disappearance, would not have thought that mentioning Merlin was remotely important. Arthur suddenly found himself annoyed.

Leon studied Arthur's profile as they continued to move swiftly through the halls of the castle towards the courtyard. "I'm sorry," he said finally. His voice was low and sincere, and he could see the shoulders of his Prince twitch upwards into a tense coil.

Arthur took two beats too long before responding. "Me too. Only a complete  _idiot_  like  _Mer_ lin could get himself mixed up in a magical kidnapping. I swear he does it just to spite me." His voice was coated in scorn and aggression, and he could see Leon's head reel back slightly at the bite in his tone, but honestly, he was angry. Angry that Merlin had gotten himself directly in the way of trouble, just like he always seemed to do.

If Leon suspected that the Prince was just firmly entrenching himself behind a wall of irritation to mask any vulnerability he might be feeling at the loss of Morgana, and certainly, Merlin, he did not show it. Arthur was grateful again.

"How would you like us to start, Sire?" Leon had again brought Arthur out of his mind and set him back on the task at hand.

"We will split into pairs. Half will begin fanning out in the upper town, the other half will begin the lower town. We will meet back in the courtyard before nightfall. Everything must be searched, and everyone must be questioned."

They had just breached the door to the courtyard and were moving down the steps quickly to the gathered men ahead of them.

"What should we do with those who have news on Morgause?" Asked Leon. "Shall we bring them in?"

Arthur paused and looked at him for a moment, considering. "No, if they think they will be executed for having knowledge of the sorceress, they will not talk, and any in league with Morgause will likely not talk anyway, not matter what consequence we put to them." Arthur was sure in his decision, though he knew his father would staunchly disapprove.

Leon nodded once in acquiescence and again moved forward. Once a handful of Knights saw the Prince approaching, they all began to fall into formation and stand at attention.

*****

When night had fallen, the Prince stood on the bottom steps of the castle entrance and took all the reports from his exhausted knights. While he was not remotely surprised that there had been no word on Morgause, her plans, her whereabouts, or her intentions, each time one of his weary knights uttered their failure to discover anything within the walls of Camelot, his sense of foreboding deepened.

Once all the Knights had cleared away, including Leon, with a solemn nod and a promise to have the men roused and ready early the next morning, awaiting their new search orders, Arthur allowed himself a moment to pause. He looked out at the ever darkening courtyard, letting his gaze linger there, steeling himself for what he would do next.

He heard, or wished he heard, the voice of Merlin just to the left of him, where the thin man would have been standing if he had been here.

_Well, there is nothing more to be done tonight, Sire. Don't worry, we -will- find her._

Arthur did not bother to look over his shoulder to confirm that the space would be empty. He knew it would be, and that his mind was only conjuring up Merlin's ghost. It was enough to lose Morgana. It was just a bitter fate to lose his... Servant too.

As this thought drifted cryptically through his mind - he was not really focusing - he realized that his day was not over. His eyes fell on the small entrance across the yard that led to the physician's chambers. With a heavy sigh, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, he moved out into the night, dreading telling the old guardian that his ward was  _gone_.

*****

Arthur rounded the corner into the large and familiar corridor. There, not fifty paces from him was the closed door of his chambers. But, his feet stopped carrying him forward, and he slumped against the wall. There was no one here. No one moving around. The castle was still. All of Camelot was tucked in, trying restlessly to sleep off the unnatural day that had plagued them. All of them except the Prince.

He had done his royal duties. He had clapped a leather-clad hand to the shoulder of an old and weary physician, and carried the strength for both of them when he watched the guardian's face sink into despair at the news of Merlin's forced departure.

 _"I will find him, Gaius. That, I can promise you."_ He had squeezed the frail man's shoulder, trying in his way to comfort and reassure him.

The old man had given a shaky and tearful smile at the self-assured promise. " _He needs you Sire."_

His stomach clenched tightly at the older man's words.  _I need..._

...Arthur sighed and shook his head, dislodging the disconcerting memory of his encounter with Gaius and followed helplessly as his mind took him to the next one. His father.

He had found the King lingering in Morgana's chambers, and it was there that he saw how desperate his father truly was.

_"I failed father. I should have protected Morgana."_

Uther had turned to him, a necklace of Morgana's draped around his fingers.  _"No, that was my duty. Her loss will forever be on my conscience. Not yours."_

He was dimly grateful that his Father had attempted the hoist the burden of Morgana's loss upon himself, though he still felt the weight of it as plainly as he had before. And his father's self-blame for Morgana did nothing to quell his sense of responsibility for the loss of his manservant.

And then there was Gwen. She leaned against the wall outside of Morgana's chambers, not wishing to impose upon the King, though she stood there like she had nowhere else to go, and when Arthur exited the room, she helplessly fell against his chest, her face in her hands.

He had wrapped his armored arms around her shoulders and held her there while she cried for the loss of her Lady. When her sobs had subsided, he felt himself bottom out as he smoothed his features back into that of 'Prince Arthur' and pushed her gently back by the shoulders.

 _"Morgause took Merlin."_  His face had remained smooth and unmoved as he told her.

But the look in her eyes just about broke him. She was so open and disbelieving. Her feelings for the loss were amplified and written plainly on her face for all to see. No shame, no embarrassment, just raw grief for the cruel extrication of two dear friends.

He felt the acute pang of jealousy at the freedom of her love for both Morgana and Merlin, and he was made aware of his own inability (or  _right_ , even) to so plainly express himself. His station had never seemed to real, nor so royally stifled.

*****

He looked up to find he had been staring at the cold floor of the corridor, still leaned heavily against the wall. He felt like hardened lead and the effort to push himself from the unyielding support of the stone at his back was monumental. But like everything else he had done today, he rose to the challenge with stoic calm and made his way to his chambers.

His sanctuary.

When he opened the doors to his rooms there were two competing and immediate reactions. One of welcomed relief, and one of instant rejection.

The sight that greeted him was one that any Prince of any land would have welcomed. There was a fire crackling in the hearth, and just in front of it was a steaming a sprawling bath - a soft-looking towel neatly folded on a stool nearby along with a fresh goblet of what he assumed was wine.

His bed looked freshly made and inviting, his night clothes laid carefully over the foot of the covers.

And lastly, laid out before him was a sprawling dinner, fit for a Prince whose day had been filled with danger and exertion.

He felt instantly that some of the sanity of his previous life - the life he had before this day had started - had returned, and his shoulders sagged with the relief.

And then his eyes landed on the one thing that would undo it all. George.

Relief gone.

The deferent servant stood with this hands clasped behind his back - which was far too straight, incidentally - and he looked primed and ready to obey every utterance the prince made. This made Arthur instantly furious, though his energy levels were low enough that all he could manage was a low "leave me" without bothering to glance at the man.

Arthur pulled off his leather gloves and set about to removing his armor starting with his belts, then his plated bracers.

When he became aware that he had not heard the door to his chambers open and close as he expected them to. He looked up at George, raw ire in his eyes. "Leave. Me."

He said this as he was just about to remove his heavy hauberk. Or... Well... Bloody hell.

At this, George approached wordlessly and worked the strap that held his armor in place just behind his left shoulder before lifting it free.

Arthur scowled in response and said nothing.

George laid the armor down next to his armoire and bowed low before exiting without ever uttering a word. Arthur watched his retreating back, a small rush of affection for the man who somehow just... knew.

Arthur eventually pulled most of his clothing off before settling into eat. His aching brain, bless it, was still for the moment allowing him to take in the food and drink without fuss or random prickles of fear and sadness.

He did not savor the meal, and it was over in less than ten minutes. He rose from his table feeling every ache in every muscle and made straight for the large bath in front of the fireplace and sank into it without hesitation.

His head lulled back and he grabbed the goblet of wine closing his eyes, keen to let himself drift and be free of any inner or outer turmoil.

His brain had other ideas.

_Why was Morgause cradling Morgana... Crouching over her like she was protecting her?... And why was Merlin in her space? ... Surely to try and protect Morgana._

_"Yes, surely, Sire."_

Arthur did not open his eyes, but instead clenched them shut at the imagined voice he once again heard so near his ear.

He imagined that Merlin was sitting on the stool next to him, having picked up his towel and was now smoothing it down in his lap, probably fidgeting with the corners.

_Where could she have taken them?_

_"What about that place beyond the waterfall? You know, where you saw your Mother?"_

_Maybe... But it didn't seem heavily fortified. It would be a bit obvious to go somewhere we had seen before._

_"True... But where else could she have gone?"_

"I don't know,  _Mer_ lin..." The sound of his own voice breaking the silence of the room startled him. He had spoken aloud, and the ghost of Merlin had vanished again, leaving him feeling desolate and ashamed of his little outburst.

He drained his cup of wine in one go and hefted himself out of the bath heavily, grabbing the un-touched towel and wrapping it around himself.

He did not bother to dry properly or change into any of his night clothes, he just dropped onto his bed, towel and all and almost fell instantly to sleep.

Though, before unconsciousness could fully take him, his tired and unguarded brain presented him with a truth.  _I miss you_.

_"I miss you, too, Arthur."_


	3. Die Another Day

The crack of Merlin's bony knees against cold stone made him whimper and he toppled.

When Morgause had began her chant to teleport them away from Camelot, Merlin had been far too focused on Arthur to notice. When the spell had taken effect, he felt he had been torn from his own skin, wholly unprepared for the sudden dispersion of his corporeal form. Therefore his landing had been met with sudden and complete unbalance.

Morgause, who had been far more prepared and anchored close to the floor managed to land with Morgana clutched tightly to her chest in one strong-armored arm. She was not, however, prepared for the man attached to her hand to twist and fall, wrenching both of their arms sharply. She grunted and in their struggle to right themselves, she had dropped Morgana out of her lap and onto the floor.

Furious, she awkwardly grasped her sheathed sword and yanked it free bringing the hilt sharply down upon the skull of the flailing man. At once she released the magical grasp that bound them together.

Merlin, who had been scrambling to gain a more stable state was not aware of them impending hit and at once fell unconscious, his face crashing to the floor with an ominous sound of skin on stone, and he was still.

*****

Merlin's eyes opened in a slow wave, one after the other. He felt like his head was a weight keeping him pinned to the floor. He was crumpled around himself like a rag doll that had been tossed aside, and his body reflexively tried to unfurl itself. He groaned his displeasure at the sensation, but pressed onward until his legs were no longer bent and knotted uncomfortably.

He reached up a slow and slender hand to brush at his swollen temple. "Nunngh." His lips parted in pain as the noise slipped out at the touch.  _Where am I?_

He blinked his eyes experimentally, and as if the pain was directly connected to that action alone, his head throbbed nauseatingly. He pressed on the soreness softly for relief. He noted this time, the cool drag of a thick chain that draped over his side, attached firmly to his wrist.

He pulled his hand away from his head and brought it before his eyes to confirm the shackle.

At this, he finally, with great effort, flattened his palm to the hard floor and pushed himself into a sitting position. He looked around and found that his other hand was bound in a similar fashion. He was chained to the wall adjoining the thick bars of an obvious cell.  _A dungeon._

But this wasn't Camelot, of that he was certain. For one, now that his mind was whirring back into function, he remembered that he had been teleported away by Morgause. He started suddenly as the memories crowded into his mind all at once.  _The Knights of Medhir, Arthur... Oh Gods, Arthur... He left him behind... Morgause..._  And with a sharp gust of breath as if he had been kicked in the gut he remembered...  _Morgana._

The panic rolled to the surface like an earthquake and he jerked towards the bars trying to scramble up and look out of his cell, but the chain that bound his right wrist would not give and he was snapped backwards, landing hard on his elbows.

He was not sure what looking between the bars would do to quell his guilty fear, but he desperately wanted to reach Morgana. Wanted to see her. See that the witch had saved her, and by extension saved him from murdering his friend.

A large and non-descript guard stepped from around a wall at the resulting clatter of Merlin's fall. He peered down at the slight boy sprawled on the floor, and he smirked before turning on his heel. Merlin could hear his footsteps retreating. He did not think the guard leaving his post was a good sign.

Merlin scooted as close as he could to the bars, leaning and stretching to put his eyes on anything beyond the walls of his cell and the cell across from him - which was empty. He could not see or hear anything nearby so he stole a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

He probed lightly on his magic, and he felt it slink to the surface like a feline, slow and sure. Merlin sighed in relief and opened his eyes, repressing it again, but keeping it near, holding it at arm's length... As it were. He wanted it close and comforting. He leaned against the wall and tried to wrap himself in the calm of his own power when he heard the same heavy foot-falls of the earlier guard.

*****

Merlin's eyes snapped open quickly at the arrival of the oversized man just outside his cell. The man did not look at Merlin, but shoved a large key into the lock and twisted, popping the gate open with an ominous creak as the door swung inwards.

Merlin pulled his knees to his chest and backed against the wall, his magic was circulating just below the skin, and his sudden apprehension was making it hard to keep a lid on it.

The guard stepped in and when he closed the iron-barred door behind him, Merlin's worry spiked and he slunk back into the corner.

"Where's Morgana?" He tried his hand at distraction. He did really want to know where she was, but he held no hope that the guard was going to take a seat and tell him everything he wanted to know. Especially since the guard had donned an alarmingly sadistic look as he stalked nearer to Merlin.

The guard smiled toothily down at the cowering man. His expression was gleeful, like what would come next was everything he had been hoping for, and Merlin felt his magic swell against the underside of his skin, and just behind his eyes.

"NO!" Merlin said. More to his magic than the guard in that particular moment... Merlin was not leaving this place without Morgana, and exposing himself as a sorcerer early on did not seem like the greatest idea. Besides, it was in his nature to choke it back. His whole life seemed to be made up of leashing his magic. It was tiresome, but necessary, and thankfully, second nature to him. He felt a sudden sadness as this thought fluttered through his mind - a very inopportune moment to have fluttering thoughts - but there was no room for that... Not when the guard had suddenly clasped a meaty hand around Merlin's slender throat.

Merlin, quickly unfurled his crouched and balled up form in shock. His hands raised instinctively to grasp at the guard's wrist and fingers in a desperate bid to pry him off. The guard, however, just squeezed and began lifting Merlin, one-handed to his feet. He slammed the now-standing servant into the wall, and Merlin grunted when his head collided with the filthy stone.

Merlin's head swam and his vision was blurred around the edges. The thick fingers relentless, and just for good measure, they pulled Merlin away from the wall once more and then crashed him back into it again.

At this last impact, Merlin's fingers slackened in their attempt to disentangle his throat and the guard laughed a guttural laugh. "Don't make this too easy now, boy."

The larger man gave him a slow once-over with his eyes that made Merlin want to vomit, and he redoubled his efforts to get free, his body twisting and pulling, but the hand was like a vice clamping him to the wall, sucking the breath out of him.

The guard, still keeping a tight fist on Merlin's thin neck, pulled a small knife from his belt left-handed. "Now, I am supposed to help you get out of these..." he waved the knife up and down indicating Merlin's small frame... "Clothes." He smiled, and leaned closer to the peasant, his grubby teeth and foul breath mingling with Merlin's own. The warlock tried to turn his face, but had no such luck and instead held his breath. He stared back defiantly, trying desperately not to betray the utter terror and disgust he felt at being divested of his clothing by this leering brute of a man.

The guard winked at Merlin's facial expression and went on... "But seeing as I'm right handed..." The guard squeezed Merlin's throat tighter and pinned him harder - firmly making his point - causing Merlin to exhale his held breath sharply... "I might just make a mistake."

At this, the guard slipped the knife underneath Merlin's neckerchief, and Merlin could feel the cool blade laying against his skin. The guard slid it across the bony section of Merlin's collarbone, and he could feel the blood instantly start to trickle down. The warm sting of the metal across the thin layer of flesh covering his sharp bone set Merlin's teeth on edge.

"Whoops," said the guard as he twisted his wrist again and cut the neckerchief from Merlin's neck, slicing him again on the side of the throat near his filthy clamped thumb. Merlin sucked in a breath and did his best to glare, jutting his lower body outwards trying to wrench away.

They guard just held the knife's point between Merlin's eyes. "I wouldn't wriggle too much, rat. There's no tellin' where my hand might slip."

Merlin felt the point of the knife pierce a small hole on the bridge of his nose, and he allowed his hips and legs to fall still at the very  _pointed_  threat.

Merlin exhaled sharply as the guard released his sore neck. The relief was short-lived, however, and Merlin was suddenly spun around and shoved face first into the wall. He turned his head just in time to feel the side of his skull, and his torso collide with the rough stone of his cell. He tried, instinctively, to bring his hands up to brace himself, but the chains that shackled him to the floor did not give.

The brutish guard wasted no time gripping at the collar of Merlin's thin shirt, and he tore it away from his back, letting it hang limply off his shoulders and arms. Merlin's magic again surged upward and the stunned sob that tripped off his lips at the sudden clamp he had to place on his own power made the greasy abuser laugh. He huffed into Merlin's ear. "Y'scared, are you?"

Merlin felt like a raging storm trapped in a glass box. One little push, one tiny crack in the clear exterior of his self-appointed cage, and he could bring this whole structure down around them. And, Gods he wanted to. He wanted to rise from the ashes of his own destruction and leave this place. To get back to Arthur and Gaius, and his destiny...

He'd almost given in to the sweet release that waited in anticipation at the starting gate of every cell in his body, but then his thoughts supplied him with the picture of a dying Morgana, and his insides revolted on him. He tightened his lips around his teeth while the guilt ran its course through his veins.

His practicality began to override his desire to relinquish his careful control of himself. He did not know who or what he was up against besides Morgause and her filthy dog that was now breathing down his neck, and he certainly wanted to be sure that Morgana had been properly healed before attempting to rescue her. Or remove her... Whichever the case may be. Merlin was uncertain of where Morgana's loyalties currently lay, but he was not willing to abandon her without being sure.

The guard, who had been doing something that Merlin couldn't identify while he was aggressively reeling his magic back in, had backed off a bit from where he had previously been snarling in Merlin's ear. This brought Merlin back to himself. He chanced a look over his shoulder and was just about to turn back around so he could more easily defend himself when he saw it.

The guard had removed a thick multi-tailed whip from his belt.

"The Lady Morgause," the guard began, fingering the tails of the whip, "is a bit preoccupied."

Merlin tried to use this opportunity, again, to spin back around, but the much larger man was too fast, and he again felt the sweaty grip of hairy fingers around his neck - this time, forcing him face-first into the cell wall.

Merlin could feel the instant moisture on his forehead. Was he really to sit here and take whatever this foul-smelling sadist had planned for him?

The answer was yes. The whip came down with a sharp echoing crack between Merlin's distinct shoulder blades, and the resulting cry that forced its way out of tight lips bounced on the walls shamefully.

Merlin was instantly irritated that he had let the sound escape, and he braced himself for the next strike which came without hesitation, in almost exactly the same spot. Merlin pressed his skin to the unyielding stone, wishing that he could just seep into it and disappear, but even he did not have that power.

_Crack_.

Merlin buried his face against the wall, wrestling with the chains that held his arms down toward his sides. He wanted so badly to shield his face, and keep his mouth from betraying him.

_Crack_.

A whimper.

_Crack_.

A grunt.

_Crack_.

The tears.

And now he thought of Arthur, and felt ashamed. He let his thoughts of the Prince wash over him, trying to sap some strength or courage from them, or at least enough shame to stop the quiet streaks from burning down his face.

_Crack. Crack. Crack._

He slid roughly down the wall landing awkwardly on his knees as he sank all the way down. The edges of his vision were out of focus and he closed his eyes, hoping to go to sleep or fall unconscious or evaporate. Any would do. At least the vile whip had stopped.

He was dimly aware of being yanked backwards by the hair and flung sideways onto his back. The shackles pulled at his wrist, and when he landed on the hard floor he could not help the gasped shout that croaked out of him.

They guard yanked Merlin's shoes off and cut the remainder of his shirt away from his shoulders and arms. Lastly, he cruelly cut away Merlin's remaining dignity and removed his baggy pants leaving him exposed in his underclothes.

As soon as the guard had retreated he heard him say; "Don't get too comfortable."

Merlin rolled to his side, and curled up in a ball, the skin on his back stretching raw and beading with blood. He pressed his eyes tightly closed. He had to get out of here.

He fell unwittingly into a merciful sleep.


	4. State of Mind

Her first awareness was that she was pressed wholly to the surface she was laying on. It was difficult to pin what it was that held her, but it was all encompassing. It was not an item or a restraint or anything tangible, so it must have been something magical or self-imposed.

This was her first taste of reality, though she was not aware of that fact yet. She was still drifting somewhere in the black. The low pressing of her body was not yet something she recognized as cause for worry. She tried to focus on it, to extricate herself from the limbo between consciousness and comatose quiet.

It was slow like a numbed tugging, but the skirts of her mind started to fold back and she could see things. They could have been visions like she had in her early days before she knew her power, but they were far less focused and jumbled. The images themselves were not clear enough, and the story was not there. The details were missing.

Her imagined nose smelled sweat and grime and her inside ears could hear the frantic heavy beat and pounding of breath as if it was being wracked from her own lungs, but lingering in her nose was something else. Something familiar. She had been close to that smell... She had walked arm-in-arm with it, wrestled playfully with it in her youth, and only in rare circumstances been wrapped in its embrace. _Arthur_.

She tried to read the story, tried to see what these sensations added up to, but all she was afforded was a sense of exertion, battle, stress, and tinge of repressed desperation. Arthur was fighting for something. His life? Someone else's? She felt an emptiness in her chest. Was it his or hers? It was cavernous, she shrank away from it, and returned to the weight that pressed her.

There was breathing now. She could hear it increasing. It was closer than Arthur's and she could feel air on her skin. The clouding around her thoughts was dissipating, and she pushed against it to make it go faster. She was catching up enough to start to panic at her lack of mobility.

Another vision wracked her, and it was sharp in its attack. An anger bubbled in her chest when she saw the king flit into her mind for the briefest of seconds, looking pained. She did not care about his features. She cared that he had features in which to look pained with. She cared that he stood somewhere and drew breath. Her memory opened further, and thoughts spilled into her head. She had decided that Uther must fall. It had failed, and she was dimly aware that she played a part in that failure, and this realization washed over her and yanked her further into reality.

A loud cry rent the caverns of her awakening mind. The sound was not hers, and she was not sure if it was in her mind or without, but it was both terrifying and utterly satisfactory at the same time, as if she both loathed it and wanted it. Her eyes snapped open, the final piece to her memory slotted violently into place as she stared glassily at the ceiling.

"MERLIN!" She screamed. The rage bounced off of the walls and reflected back to her ears, startling her into an upright and shaky position, automatically dispelling the force that held her down.

*****

"Yes, my sister. Yes." The softest fingers brushed Morgana's cheek, and as she turned her head towards the source, she heard the rustle of cloth and felt the depression of a bed - the surface she had been pressed into not moments ago.

Morgause leaned into Morgana's space and put their forehead's together, the smile she wore was fond and relieved, a look that was only reserved for her half-sibling. "You have come back to me."

Morgana could hardly answer. Her eyes were trained on her sister, but she could only focus on the fingers on her face and the forehead against hers. Everything was sharp and physical at the moment, and her brain was rattled with the echoing cry and the leftover images. She felt split and sidelined, still waiting for her mind and body to rejoin.

She concentrated on bringing her breath under control.

"Shh." said Morgause.

"Where are we?" The words slipped out.

"Do not worry, sister. We are safe." This was not answer, but Morgana accepted it for now.

Morgana's visage pinched. "What happened?" She knew some of it. She knew she had been poisoned, and she felt her heart clench and race with dueling emotions. Sadness and rage vying for domination.

Morgause smoothed her hair. "That rat of a servant poisoned you. He almost killed you." Morgause leaned back to look into Morgana's eyes. "You were almost lost to me."

Morgana wanted to point out that these were not the answers she was looking for. She did not understand how she had gotten to that point. "But, why?" Morgana searched her sister's gaze as she asked.

"Because he is a dog of Pendragon." Morgause said this with a sneer and a pointed glance that seemed to pierce the wall behind her as if she was glaring at something.

Morgana was starting to get frustrated. "But why were _you_ there?"

Morgause brought her gaze back around to her sister, and she gave her a pitied look. "To do as we discussed. To kill Uther as he has long deserved." She said this with such sweet patience that Morgana almost wanted to hurt her.

"The last I remember, I was in the woods with you, and then I woke up in my chambers to all of Camelot falling ill and asleep. What did you do to me?" Morgana's gaze still a little unfocused managed to bore into her sister's.

"Yes." Said Morgause easily. "We spoke of killing the King, and together we brought our plan to action. But, my sister, you must not think on that now. The poison is still in your veins. You must rest."

Morgana's blood boiled. Morgause was being purposefully cryptic, and Morgana was in no mood to be toyed with.

Morgause clearly sensed the discomfort and suspicion radiating off of her sister, and refocused her words. "When you are well, you will see to the urchin that did this to you."

"What?" Morgana was brought up short, just as Morgause had planned. Morgana was dimly aware of this, but she was too curious with her meaning to question it.

"The servant. I brought him with us. He is my gift to you my sister. When you are well, you will have your chance to... Confront him." She smiled sadistically.

"Merlin is here?" Morgana's tone flat-lined, and her face smoothed into stone.

"Indeed." Morgause sneered. "He will be pliant and ready for you. I am having him seen to as we speak." Morgause's face was almost gleeful before it slipped into a mock pout. "I hope you do not mind. Do not worry, I will not break him all the way, but I simply could not let him get away with hurting you so."

Morgause again cupped Morgana's face.

Morgana remained impassive thinking about Merlin being seen to. Her blood sang with revenge, but her sister's careful avoidance of Morgana's pointed questions left Morgana feeling uncertain. What she did know was that she was tired, and in no fit state to deal with any of this. Her head swam with leftover visions, new information, and gaping holes in her knowledge. She laid back on the bed, hoping that Morgause would take her action as dismissal.

Thankfully, she did, and Morgause squeezed her sister's knee through the duvet. "Yes. Rest."

Morgana forced a smile and closed her eyes. Only when she heard the low creak of a heavy wooden door did she open her eyes and stare at the ceiling. Nothing was right. Nothing had gone as it had been planned. The problem was she had never been fully privy to the plan. Not Morgause's. Not Merlin's. She felt used. Like a pawn that was moved to reach someone else's ends.

She balled her fists and laid awake for hours more before she rose from her bed, the soft white nightgown danced at her feet as she pushed through the door into the hallway.

*****

A soft rustling of cloth teased Merlin's consciousness. It was such a light sound, he was not sure whether he had heard it or not. He decided not.

Merlin opened his heavy eyes. He didn't know how long he had slept, or even if he had really slept at all. He was slumped in the same position the wicked guard had left him in, and the protest of his balled muscles screamed for relief. He pushed himself up gingerly with a groan.

He snaked a stiff arm around to his back to touch along the sharp wounds from the whip. _Wait. No. Shirt?_ His fingers brushed against the cloth of his tunic and he looked down, noting that he was fully clothed down to his filthy buckle-ridden boots.

"What?" He said aloud. He thought back. He distinctly remembered being divested of almost every last bit of his clothing _-violently-_.

When he jerked his arm behind him again he found he felt little pain outside of the familiar ache of waking up on a stone floor. A feeling he was quite accustomed to - waking on the forest floor next to Arthur and his knights, or even in his own bed which was not always satisfactory after the paces his daily life was inclined to put him through... _Interesting_ , he thought. This action should be stretching open flesh. But when his fingers found their way under the hem of his shirt, he felt nothing but the mostly smooth skin of his lower back.

He froze. This was not right. What was this? Where was the pain? The blood? The dull ache of bruised skin mingled with the sharp sting of whip-wounds?

He spine straightened, alert, and unnerved. His magic woke in parallel and he looked about his cell as if it would give up the answer. His breath increased as his chains rattled in the jostling movement of his prickly fear. Something was _definitely_ not right.

"Guard!" he called, and he heard it... An almost imperceptible intake of breath. His eyes narrowed in the direction of the sound which seemed to come from outside and to the left of his cell as if someone were standing just out of his sight against the wall. "Hello?" he tried... And yes, this time he knew what he heard. The sound of bare feet retreating quickly down an unknown hall.

Just as the sound was out of his range, the guard appeared in front of his cell. Merlin expected the same brute that he had been acquainted with so intimately, but it was just a bored looking thin man with his thumbs tucked inside his belt, his stance annoyed. "The fuck you want?"

"Who was here?" Merlin demanded, a finger pointing to the left - the opposite direction from which the guard appeared.

The guard raised his eyebrow amused. "Dun know what yer talkin' about."

Merlin's eyes darted to the direction of his pointed finger. "There was someone there."

"No there wasn't." The guards bored face was now entertained. "Maybe yer goin' nuts." The guard laughed and everything about it was _knowing_.

Merlin's nerves ramped up at the sound of the guards tone and words. He had no wounds when he should have wounds... The guard was not the same... Surely Merlin could not have slept long enough for the guard to change... Though, there was no light with which to measure, but it had only felt like minutes.

And then there were the sounds... The cloth that had roused him. The breath. The feet. He was sure of it... Wasn't he?

The guard snickered and disappeared to the right again saying nothing else.

At that moment, Merlin became aware of a low hum in his ears. It filled his mind like white noise and his magic prickled in response. He sat ram-rod straight for what seemed like hours listening to the constant sound - entirely unsure whether it originated in him or from elsewhere. He didn't like it.

*****

Morgana quickly ducked back into her room and padded over to the bed, her bare feet making soft noises on the stone as she went. She slid under the cover and sat with her knees up and close to her body, the lingering poison sapping her strength while her chest warred with itself keeping her awake against the weakness she felt.


	5. Torn

Merlin sat in his spot. Yes, this was his spot. He owned it and was not going to let anyone have it. It belonged to him. It was beside the point that the shackles, which were now just an extension of his body, held him to this spot. He had grown accustomed to it, and decided that he would vehemently resist being moved from it.

His fingers drummed a steady rhythm on the floor next to his hips, his knees up against his chest. He stared at the opposite wall, taking comfort in its memorized pattern. He often focused there and bathed in the familiarity. His cell. His home. This was his usual state, and it was just fine with him. It was when lucidity intervened that things went _wrong_ and _uncomfortable_ and _terrifying_.

These moments were few, thankfully, and they brought with them four 'Knowledges' - as he now referred to them in his head. The first, and ever present, was the hum that he noted after waking the first time in his home was relentless and unyielding. It had not, did not, change. It was constant and never altered. It wasn't static, it wasn't a pitch. It just was. It never increased in volume or decreased, and no matter what he did to drown it out - scream, claw, cry, ignore, sing, laugh, talk... It never changed.

He imagined that it should have a rhythm. Something to give it more life. So, he gave it one with his fingers. He idly wondered if the fingers still tapped out the rhythm while he slept, or rested, or whatever it was he did.

The second 'Knowledge' was that he had lost time. He did not know how many days had passed since he came here - he did not even know where here was. If he was thinking hard enough about it, he knew the time that had passed was significant. His hair had crept down past his cheekbones to tickle at his nose. Months? Maybe? He shrugged at himself when he started down this path, laughing a bit fitfully at getting lost in the nature of hair growth.

The third 'Knowledge' was the danger of his magic. It would not be tolerated. He did call to it. He roused it and made it wake up and answer, and just when he was about to expel some of it out of desperation during his 'awake' moments or just simply out of idle boredom in one of his 'states' he yanked it back. Nope. It was dangerous. It was not to be had. It would hurt. He knew it. Once he let it out, it would turn on him and attack him. It might move him from his spot or change the walls, and that was just not allowed.

This was probably the most potent of the four 'Knowledges'. It was _-Truth-_ and he did not like the terror that usually accompanied The Truth. He much preferred to be still. Screaming was not easy with a dry throat, you know.

The final 'Knowledge' was that he was not alone. He knew it. If he was lucid and honest enough, he knew that he may have invented this last Knowledge. Sure, food and water were brought to his house sometimes. It seemed to just appear there whenever he wandered back to thought - though he never saw the hand that brought it.

But... That was not what he meant. The Feet... He heard The Feet... He had no sense of time, and any attempt to pin The Feet down with regularity was impossible, but they were there. He. Knew. It. They were always the same on the stone - soft and bare, and they always stopped outside and to the left of his cell. He had given up long ago talking to them. They were feet, obviously, they could not talk back. But they were his friends, he thought. Weren't they? Feet could be friends.

He looked down at his own feet hidden beneath his boots that were now unrecognizable. The low drumming of long fingers on stone still thrumming, and slipped back into his State. He was tired of thinking now.

*****

Morgause glided over to a large bowl on the table while Morgana bent her head down to read the text opened in her arms on the other side of the large room. Morgause surreptitiously dipped her head to look into the clear liquid that filled the bowl, her eyes glowing momentarily as an image swirled into existence. The smallest smile ghosted across her lips as she saw the gently rocking and tapping form of the creature she was so carefully cultivating. A faint shimmer from the upper corner of the cell told her that her concealment still held.

She was wary of the boy. Any other person subjected to this treatment would be a writhing mess of insanity. Something about him was stronger than any other being she had treated this way. It unnerved her, but the reports from the guards charged with watching over the cell soothed her nerves. He was 'bloody fucking crazy' they said. She still checked, though.

Progress with Morgana had not proceeded as expected. In a way, the slow progress of the prisoner's mental deconstruction, while frustrating, was somewhat of a blessing. Morgause had been certain that a few days, or at the most weeks, would have been enough to see Morgana embrace and solidify her rage. She needed Morgana to take the life of the man. That would be the final step. Morgause had thought it was a beautiful gift of fate to have been given this opportunity. Had she not taken the dog with them, she would've had to find another way to mold Morgana into the powerful weapon she knew she could be.

Morgause was not certain of the relationship that was between them, but she knew enough from her brief moments in Camelot, cradling Morgana and bargaining with the worthless wretch for Morgana's life, that there _was_ a relationship.

Morgause knew that to break Morgana of her bonds with her old life, she must tread carefully, and though Morgana hid it well, Morgause knew that her attempts to divest her sister of any lingering feelings for those in that stilted kingdom, were somehow falling short.

One thing was clear, and Morgause clung to it like a beacon of hope. The death Morgana wished up the King was clear and untainted. Morgana would see Uther fall, and even craved to bloody her hands in his death. But it was Arthur, and Morgause had learned later of a Guinevere, and maybe even the decaying boy in the cell that arrested Morgana's full potential.

She turned from the bowl and leveled a gaze at Morgana. There was no doubt that her power had grown exponentially in the half-year they had been here, but any attempts to mold Morgana's mind into the complete hatred she needed to possess to comply with Morgause's ends, had been met with careful resistance on the black-haired woman's part.

Morgause felt the impatience bubble up in her breast as she thought this for the hundredth time since bringing her here. "Morgana, my sister..." She swept over to Morgana and gently tugged the book out of her hands. "What say you to paying a visit to our little pet? Don't you want to confront your killer?" She chose her words carefully to help incite action.

*****

Morgana cringed inwardly at the request, but she was careful to keep her expression neutral. She knew that any attempt to sidestep or divert Morgause would further raise suspicions she knew her sister already harbored.

She knows her sister cares for her. Loves here, even. It is clear in the way she touches her and cares for her, and has spent countless hours nurturing her slumbering power into something that is quickly becoming formidable. But there is something else there, also. Morgause wants Uther dead. That is something they both agree upon, but she also appears to want to see all of Camelot fall. Morgause hides it well, but not well enough. Morgana is shrewd enough to recognize her little hints and innuendos that no one in the house of Pendragon or its staunch supporters should be allowed to survive. And herein lies the problem.

Morgana owes so much to her half-sister. The bracelet she bestowed upon her rescued her from countless nights of terrors and dreams that haunted her waking steps. She saved her from being poisoned, and now she feeds her, clothes her, and trains her, and gives her somewhere to _belong_. She wants to please her.

But this notion that those like Gwen and Arthur must also fall along with Uther is one that she has not yet been able to come to terms with. Until now, Uther had been far removed from any of her other friends and companions. Her ire had solely been directed at him, but Morgause seems to think... No, to know... That all those who fall under the banner of the dragon are a danger to their kind...

To her credit, Morgause has a point. Particularly where Arthur is concerned. Overthrow one monarch only to be replaced by his son who has grown up knowing the same prejudice as his father. But then, there are the other things that Arthur is, that Arthur does, that sets him apart from the King... He rescued the Druid boy and plead for Morgana's freedom and won it when Uther had locked her away for acting against him. It was these things that gave Morgana pause. But anytime she tried to voice her uncertainty, Morgause simply rallied harder to sway her otherwise. She was at an obvious crossroads and either path meant something valuable lost. Forever.

Then there was the issue with Merlin. _Merlin_. Just the thought of his name sent her insides roiling in a mixture of fury, betrayal, and pointed sadness. She knew what she was doing was dangerous. If she was caught, she was not sure exactly how Morgause would respond, but she was fairly certain it would not be favorable. She visited Merlin. Not every night, and not even every week, but she visited him nonetheless. She would sneak out of her room in the dead of night and stand pushed against the wall outside of his cell, jerking her wrist in the direction of the guard she knew was standing watch around the corner of the other wall. Sometimes she put the guard to sleep or just sent him off in another direction on a dire errand that had only just occurred to him. It afforded her some privacy to sit and listen to the man in the cell.

She wanted to understand. She wanted to know what it was that had made him try and take her life, though she did not think she could confront him. She had gone to him that first night, not daring to look upon him. She had never looked upon him. He had heard her and called out to her, though it did not appear he knew who it was. She had retreated then, but the impulse to return had been unshakeable, and it had since become something she felt she had to do.

*****

_"I hear you Feet. I hear you. I'm glad your back!" Merlin had spoken proudly into the night. "You were gone... Gone for... Well, I don't know how long, but that doesn't really matter does it? At least you are here now!" He laughed a bit hysterically._

_"I made a rhythm! You want to hear? Listen..." He drummed his fingers more forcefully on the stone, using his uncut nails to tap out the rhythm louder. He laughed again. "Feet don't have ears do they? No, I suppose not."_

_He fell silent for several minutes._

_"Feet? Is it okay if I call you 'Feet'? I don't know what else to call you really... And you can't answer me, so I will just assume that it's okay..."_

_Merlin's voiced dropped from his hysterical babbling happiness to something more somber in a jarring instant. "Have you seen Morgana? Is she still here? Does she hate me? No, I know she hates me. I hate me. She should hate me."_

_He sighed out her name. "Morgana."_

_At this, Morgana had slid down the wall to sit and lean her head closer to the opening of the cell._

_"It was me. I did it. I poisoned her. I was going to kill her, Feet. KILL HER." His voice had gone shrill and cracked as he shouted the last words._

_"I am a monster. I know." His voice registered low again. The sudden changes were unnerving._

_"But Feet, you must understand! You will, won't you? I had to... She was killing Camelot. It was going to die. It was sick, and she was making it sicker. I had to. I had to. I had to." Merlin fell into a low chant rocking slightly in his spot, though his fingers never broke their rhythm._

_Morgana had tensed at this new information. This. This is what she wanted, though she could not understand what he had meant. She had not done anything. She had not cast a spell, and she certainly had not intended to kill all of Camelot. So, how was it that he blamed her?_

_"Arthur." Merlin said suddenly into the silence that had eventually fallen after he stopped chanting. "She was going to kill Arthur. That can't happen. Arthur can't die. He is to be protected. He is special. Important. He is going to do things. Things that will save us all. Vital. Need him."_

_Merlin laughed again high and edgy. "Well, not me, Feet. He won't save me. Not important. Not like him, you know? Though, it's a pity because if he does not save me, then I cannot save him, and then he might die anyway, and HE CAN'T DIE. "At this Merlin's voice choked out and Morgana flinched back at the sounds of chains rattling and echoing as Merlin clearly struggled with them._

_"I have to save him. Feet, I have t!. I must! Feet, I wish you had hands!"_

_Suddenly Merlin burst into a fit of giggles. "Feet with hands! Feet with hands!"_

_Morgana pictured him slumping over into a heap rolling on the floor in his imagined hilarity. She felt her chest tighten, and her eyes pricked with remorse for his state. The second she felt the weakness course through her, she remembered... He as good as admitted to making an attempt on her life... And just as quickly as the remorse had come, so did the anger. And she was back at the crossroads again._

_With a sigh, and in the cover of the sound of chains rattling and rolling over the stone floor, she stood and retreated back to her room._

_That had been the last time Merlin had truly spoken to her, and that was over a month ago. He had since concluded that the 'Feet' were not going to respond, so he saw no point in addressing them... Other than to greet them sometimes. "Hi again, Feet. I missed you."_

*****

Morgause squeezed Morgana's arm, and she jerked back to the moment suddenly worried about how long she had drifted through her memories, and whether Morgause had sensed it for what it was - another moment of hesitation. But when Morgana's eyes met hers, they were just smiling with anticipation and barely concealed sadistic glee.

Morgana pasted a sweet smile on her face and said; "Yes. Yes, I think it's time."

Morgause clapped her hands together once and almost squealed with excitement. "Excellent! Shall we?" She made for the door and Morgana mentally scrambled before reaching out to grasp Morgause.

She was careful to keep her smile on her face, but she allowed some tiredness to seep through. "Not yet, sister. I have been training hard all day and I am famished and exhausted. I would rather be at my best when I am to face him... My killer..." She added as an afterthought.

Morgause studied her for a beat before she ducked her head. "Of course. Of course. The rat has waited this long, what is another night? It is yours to enjoy as you see fit, after all." It was clear to Morgana that her sister was disappointed, but it was also clear that she did not suspect Morgana's reasons of being anything other than what she said they were.

Morgana was not sure if she wanted to kill Merlin if it came down to it. What she did know was that she would never make that decision without confronting him first. Tonight.


	6. Fall Awake

Merlin was sleeping. It was one of the rare times he had actually drifted off into true slumber. Most of the time, he merely dozed or rested his eyes. His dreams were never clear enough for him to remember. Sometimes he dreamt of Arthur, but the prince had become more of an abstract notion, and less of an accurate memory.

Sometimes his Destiny gnawed at him, making him feel guilty for being forced to abandon his given task of protecting Arthur. While these bouts of guilt and remembrance were mercifully few and far between, moments of lucidity brought with them blind panic and deep longing for a life he had all but given up on.

Most of the time he was held in a state of quiet deconstruction. He was still aware enough to realize that his sanity was waning, and still no closer to discovering its cause. The hum was still ever-present and the only comfort was the steady drumming of his fingers that held the lingering vestiges of his mind together with their learned rhythm.

He had yet to live in this cell without the quiet, never-changing, hum. And that was why when it came to an abrupt stop, he jolted awake.

*****

The chains rattled loudly as he flailed and tried to sit up. The sound echoed around the cell, and a blind panic surfaced and shocked through him. He thrashed and pulled against the binds, as unnoticed tears streaked down his face.

In the din of his own terror, he registered that his magic was settling inside him, like a calm wave that was receding on a deserted shore to rejoin the ocean. The feeling was familiar, and designed to lull, to calm. It was the same feeling he got when his magic surged forth at a threat to his Prince, only to fall slowly back once the danger had passed, leaving him relieved and unrevealed.

If this had been any other time or any other place, Merlin might have registered the familiarity and inspected it for its meaning. But his mind was partially broken and filled with the cold emptiness of losing the persistent noise that had become so much a part of him.

"The hum. The HUM. My rhythm. THEHUM!" He croaked and spluttered and eventually screamed, pulling ineffectually at his bonds. He felt an abandonment that he had never known, as if the hum was his only lifeline, and without it, he would crumble into dust, unremembered.

His fingers tapped a broken and disjointed rhythm that was nothing like the rhythm he had designed to suit the hum. Frustrated he pushed his fingers into his hair and pulled at it viciously, beating his fist against his skull in an attempt to bring the noise stuttering back to life.

"Comeback.Comeback.Comeback.Pleasecomeback." He was sobbing unrestrainedly, his legs pulled to his chest, rocking back and forth and abusing his temples with his own hands. He neither noticed the pain, or even registered that he should be feeling any pain at all.

"Shhhhhh."

Merlin's head snapped up at the sound of a quiet shush that came to him from outside the cell. In his momentary astonishment at the sound of another human voice, he stilled, the chains tinkling into silence that rang. He listened. Desperate to hear it again.

Instead, what he heard was the sound of a bare foot tapping with a small slapping sound against the stone floor just outside his cell, and to the left.

Merlin's eyes closed and two more tears streaked down his face in relief, as he began to rock in time with the steady beat.

It was not quite right, not the same, but it was steady.

"Feet." he breathed, trying to relax into the comfort of the beat and the presence of companions.

He sat there for what felt like hours, rocking gently, the chains adding to the sounds with his movement, but he was never sure of time.

*****

He started to tremble slightly when clarity began to descend on him. His mind reassembling into something more recognizable as his own. It was disconcerting, even though it was slow. His thoughts stopped repeating and hitching on the loss of his hum, and he felt... Almost _normal_.

He opened his eyes and stopped rocking, the chains falling silent seconds later, as he looked at the bars of his cell.

"Who's there?"

The tapping foot stopped.

Merlin suppressed a shiver at the loss, but reigned in the lingering panic that sat like a thick residue in his chest. He scooted closer to the bars, trying to stretch and see outside of them, but couldn't - the chains did not give enough. The most he could do was latch the tips of his left hand around one bar, and he did so, trying to reach out to the presence he was certain was there.

"Hello?" he tried again. His voice was weak and cracked from his earlier outburst and disuse.

He heard a quiet, deep inhalation of breath before the feet appeared in his field of vision.

He stared at them for a long moment, reveling in the vindication that he had not been entirely insane about their presence over the months. It was a comfort. They were a comfort. His fingers twitched off the cell's bar and made to reach for them, to touch the soft pale toes of his companions.

He couldn't reach, and it almost made him cry again. His hand fell and he pulled back, pushing himself into a sitting position, eyes still trained on the feet.

"Merlin."

*****

The quiet and stony greeting of Morgana's voice fell on Merlin like a hammer. He felt like his spine was made of metal, rigid and unyielding, and the sound of his name rang through him in a violent vibration.

He looked up at her, and in a moment's pause was torn between scrambling forward in an attempt to grab onto her, and recoiling backwards to escape the frigid look in her eyes.

He settled for leaning away, and planting himself back into his _spot_ , curling his knees up to his chest, though he never broke eye contact with her.

He was drinking her in, another human being, a friend... Or, well... A familiar face. One that lived despite his efforts to snuff out her life.

As this thought came to him, he almost wretched. Instead of the stomach acid and bile that he expected, words formed on his lips.

"Please forgive me."

"Why should I?" She gave no pause to let his words hang in the air before answering.

Her response cut into him like the edge of a knife. In his struggle to keep up with the flood of emotions surging through him like a storm, he idly wished it had been a knife - so that he could bleed - so he could show his sorrow and remorse in blood.

He did not have an answer for her. When the silence stretched on for too long, he put his forehead to his knees - silently pleading with his tongue to unravel and say all the things that he told himself he would say when he had the chance. And Gods had he thought about it.

She had not moved a muscle, and he dare not look at her again. It was too hard. The look on her face was burned into his mind, a poor replacement for the last time he had laid eyes on her. The memory of her fear, shock, and sadness presented itself like a beacon behind his eyelids, and he let yet more tears fall onto his knee caps, though he felt he had no more to give. He was so tired.

"Why, Merlin?" Her voice was like cinder blocks scraping along cobblestone. It offered no peace in its steady demand.

Merlin lifted his head to free his lips from the cocoon of his protective position. "You were killing Camelot. You were killing Arthur." He sounded defeated and grief-stricken. He closed his eyes tightly before turning his head to gauge her reaction.

The corner of her eye twitched imperceptibly at his quiet response, but otherwise her face remained impassive.

She did not reply and he allowed his head to fall to his knees again, not aware of the moments she took to glance over him fully, to take in his tattered clothes, emaciated form, and filth.

"You know she used you." Merlin said to his knees, but he knew she heard him. She had finally moved, the gentle swish of her dressing gown gave her away.

"I do." Morgana stated baldly, obviously not feeling the need to deny the knowledge she had long ago come to. "But I didn't then," she finished sounding angrier as she spoke.

Merlin sighed shakily. "I know."

At this, Morgana had stepped up to the bars and curled her pale fingers around them, knuckles white as she snarled. "You knew I was innocent and you still tried to kill me." Her voice was again measured when she asked, "Tell me why I should not do the same to you?"

"I can't." Merlin looked at her, his eyes muted and no longer bright, the greasy curls of his hair obscuring his face.

She blinked several times in succession, possibly not expecting such a lack of self-preservation, though Merlin was too drained to truly know.

Merlin shifted and uncurled himself before crawling again towards the bars, looking up at her. "I can't."

He wanted to beg her to just be done with him. Seek her retribution to assuage his guilt and free him from whatever it was that had kept him balancing on the edge of insanity for too long.

"How did you know?" She was looking down on him - a statue of composure, and he flinched at the question.

"I just knew." He knew when he said it, it wouldn't be good enough, and her sneer, while expected, made him drop his gaze.

"You can do better than that, Merlin."

When she said his name, he felt the edges of his soul tear along an already perforated edge. To take a life - any life - was not what Merlin wanted for himself. When he traveled to Camelot with hope in his heart for a fresh start and a place to fit in, he never dared dream that by his own hands he would end a life. Certainly not one of a dear friend.

"I can't," he repeated.

At this, she lowered herself into a crouch, and reached through the bars, grabbing the back of his filthy head and tangling her fingers in the already knotted locks of his hair. She jerked him forward, a sickening crunch of the metal on his wrists signifying that she held him at max length from his prison.

"Tell. Me. Why. I. Shouldn't. End. You."

He let her hold him, and ignored the protest in his arms.

"I had no choice," he uttered with mingled strain and resignation. "It was you or Camelot."

"You mean 'or Arthur'?" she spat, jerking his head.

Merlin's lack of response was answer enough and she released him sharply, flinging him to the floor. She wiped her hand on her dressing gown in a sign of disgust. Merlin was filth. He was unworthy to be touched, even in fits of violence.

"You should have found another way. ANY other way! I did not deserve what you did to me. You do not deserve to sit at my feet. You don't deserve to live!"

Merlin curled in on his side. Each times she spoke, he felt opened and wounded. Guilt clawed at him again, unrelenting, and he wanted to take it all back. He wanted to lie and tell her that there had been another way, that he was just weak and did not think of it. But there wasn't. He knew it. Just like he knew if he had to do it again, he would. So he told her that.

He lifted his head to hold her eyes as he did so, and watched his words wash over her, generating a new emotion in her features. Surprise? Incredulity?

"How did you know?" she repeated.

He put his head down again.

"You will not even give me that?" Her voice sounded so much like the old, impetuous Morgana, that Merlin could have smiled - on a different day, under other circumstances. As it was, he felt the loss of her more acutely than ever before.

Merlin did not respond, he just curled his arms around himself and lay in a wrecked ball on the cell floor.

When he heard her footsteps retreating, he bit his lip through, resisting the urge to call her back.

Her words floated back to him. "I thought you better than this Merlin. You made your choice. Now live with it."

The detachment was back in her voice, and Merlin did not miss the meaning behind them. She was not going to kill him. He was going to live with his choice. She was going to keep him here forever.

*****

He thought for a moment that it was no less than he deserved, but then a flash of blond, brighter than he had seen in months invaded his inner vision. Arthur. The Prince. His Destiny.

He could no longer hear her footsteps, and he closed his eyes, stealing himself, and gathering his focus around him like a warm cloak, calling on his magic for the first time without the horrid fear of imagined retribution.

_"This is how."_

He could feel the tremor in the air when she halted. He could hear the whir of her thoughts, as they took a moment to come to terms with what had just passed through her mind - initial shock at being addressed at all, more pointed shock that it was Merlin who had addressed her, dawning realization of its meaning... Then the anger.

_"HOW COULD YOU?"_

His hands flew up to his ears, though the action would be completely ineffectual.

_"I'm..."_

_"DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME YOU'RE SORRY."_

The clanging of her piercing mental shouts caused him to convulse.

_"I was wrong not to tell you. I knew I should have told you long ago."_

_"Coward."_

She had stopped screaming at him, but the way she called him on his cowardice was so much worse.

_"I came to you. I trusted you. You lied to me, and..."_

_"Tried to kill you. I know."_

He could sense the tension in her at his bald confession. He would not hide anymore. Not from her.

It was selfish, and he knew it. He did it because he remembered his purpose, remembered his Prince. But she also deserved the truth, and he wanted to give it to her. He wanted her to remember a different time. A time where friends and loved ones did not try to end each other. He wanted to go home. Together.

 _"But_ she _used you."_

Morgana did not reply, and his tentative connection to her emotions was severed. She had blocked him.


	7. Never Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Merlin. I know it has been forever. I am so sorry for those who have been reading! *cries* ONWARD!

"This is the third time, Arthur. The third time you have come back without ever crossing into Essetir. That witch is there, hiding in Cenred's kingdom with the rest of the magic filth that he welcomes. I will not tolerate her kind corrupting my...ward. It is your job as crowned prince to get her back."

Uther's footfalls were heavy as he paced back and forth, hands tightly curled on his hips, looking every bit the vengeful king he was. He turned to glare at his son.

"I expected you to have her back by now," he spat, boring into Arthur's eyes with his own wild discolored ones.

Everything he did not say was ringing in Arthur's ears. _You failed. You're failing. You're not worthy. You're a disappointment. I wish it had been you._ The last one made Arthur cringe inwardly. Both because he was afraid of the truth of it, and ashamed that he thought of it. Ashamed that his sense of self-worth had been lowered to such debasing thoughts.

Arthur winced when Gaius dabbed the top of his shoulder with something sticky and yellow, and he turned his head to look. The gash was deep and would leave him with a stiff sword arm, and yet another scar.

His body was becoming a memoir of his failure to bring Morgana... _and Merlin_... home.

The number of available knights was dwindling, as each time they returned through the gates another one had either fell or become injured and would not ride back out on the next wave.

He had been forced to take citadel guards and footmen to meet the growing demand of men, and it seemed each time they left they were met with some kind of barrier that forced them back home. Bandits, or unnamed creatures, or even fearsome weather.

Uther was relentless, and afforded little time for recovery before he was ordering them right back out again.

This was Arthur's fifth time in the physician's care since the year-long search had begun, and the world-weariness of his body was taking a toll.

He did not complain, did not ask for reprieve, and soldiered on as he was expected to do, but he was _drawn_ and _tired_ , and _faithless_.

Uther was still staring at him, angry and expectant, and Arthur said the only thing he knew to say. "Yes, father."

"You ride tomorrow, and this time... Don't fail." He let his eyes glance the puffy wound on Arthur's shoulder, and where another parent may have shown regret or concern, Uther only showed contempt. As if his son should have been better than to take such a blow.

Arthur did not miss the look. He never did. And only when the doors closed behind the king's sweeping cloak, did Arthur allow his eyes to slip closed against the dead weight in his body and the cloud of disapproval his father always left in his wake.

The truth was, Arthur no longer needed Uther to knock him down a peg or two. He was already there, quite effectively berating himself every time he came back without Morgana.

For Uther, it was all about his precious ward. The lady Morgana. Arthur felt the same sting of her absence, though perhaps not as acutely. There was a bond between his father and her that he did not share with either of them.

For Arthur, however, it was worse than that. He had long since learned not to mention the loss of Merlin in front of his father, and he certainly no longer made the mistake of announcing that he was looking for him too. Uther's rage that the servant was even a fleeting thought that passed through Arthur's mind had been palpable, and the tirade that followed quickly taught Arthur to keep his tongue.

Arthur no longer heard Merlin's voice anymore. He had been embarrassed to in the first place. He was not superstitious by nature, but the lack of Merlin's presence in his mind felt foreboding somehow, like it was a sign of his demise.

Gaius rested a gnarled hand on Arthur's bare, uninjured shoulder, and Arthur opened his eyes again. He had stopped reporting to Gaius months ago on the status of the search, unable to continuously repeat things like "no sign of them...him", and "nothing yet", and Gaius had stopped asking.

It was a bit uncomfortable for Arthur sitting in this room with him, knowing that they both knew about Arthur's failure. But it was still better than being with Uther or Gwen who were so distraught in their own very different ways, and unable to restrain themselves from showing it - mostly crying Gwen's case, and yelling in Uther's.

Gaius held his sadness in stoic silence. His feet shuffled a bit slower, and his shoulders slumped a bit lower, but he somehow managed to still radiate calm affection towards Arthur as he had always done. Arthur was more grateful than he would ever express.

*****

"Are you ready?" Morgause threaded her fingers through the front of Morgana's tattered hair, both petting and adjusting it.

Morgana smiled and nodded, looking down at filthy white undergarment. "I am."

"And you remember your story?" Morgause lifted Morgana's chin and looked into her eyes, discerning with a touch of trepidation just under the surface. She trusted her sister without reservation, but everything needed to go to plan, and she would not be nearby to ensure control. She struggled with the lack of it.

Morgana clasped her wrist and lowered her hand gently, looking directly into her sister's eyes. "Yes, sister. Please stop worrying."

Morgause expelled the tension in her shoulders and returned a sweet smile. "Of course. I know. I will miss you, my love."

"And I you."

"But I have faith all will work out in our favor and we will be together again when the tyrant king is no more. They say he is frantic, and the prince is broken. The kingdom is ripe for the plucking. For now, just play your part of the loving ward, and I will be in contact with our next move."

Morgana bristled visibly at the words 'loving ward' and Morgause frowned in understanding. "It will not be long. You know how to reach me if you need me."

Morgana sighed and readied herself. "Yes."

"Now go, our scout said the patrol will be passing through the Darkling Wood before noon." Morgause pulled Morgana to her and wrapped her in an embrace, placing a kiss on her temple. "Our time has come."

Morgana clung tightly and tilted her face into Morgause before stepping back. She took a few steps backwards, looking on at her sister before turning and making her way through the trees towards the well traveled roads that wound through the forest.

*****

Arthur all but fell to his knees when he saw her. His sword lowered uselessly and he gaped at her. In one small moment he was flooded with relief and questions, and all the pain in his body that he kept tucked away and ignored rushed forward along with his adrenaline.

When her eyes finally fell on him and his company, they made for each other, Arthur dropping his sword to catch her by the shoulders when she stumbled into him.

"Morgana," he breathed pushing her away a bit to look at her face.

All the questions were there, but neither of them spoke. She looked weary and frightened, but otherwise unharmed.

He released her shoulder and held his hand out behind him, still keeping his eyes on her.

The cloak was pressed into his hands promptly, and he instinctively knew it had been Leon that had put it there.

In all the buzzing in his brain, he spared Leon a kind thought. He was one of the few knights that was still standing, stalwart and sure. Arthur could not have come this far without him.

He slung the cloak around Morgana's shoulders and pulled it taut around her neck. She caught it gratefully with her arms and pulled it around her middle.

Leon was there again when Arthur supported her forwards towards the horses, and Leon presented Arthur with the reigns to his stallion.

Arthur hoisted himself up and offered his hand to Morgana, both of them looking over each other's faces in silence. It was unspoken, but Arthur supposed they did not need the words. They were drinking in each other's features.

Morgana clutched his wrist, and Leon braced his hands, giving her a makeshift foothold. She stepped into his palms and Arthur pulled her up behind him.

He felt her shift and pull the cloak around herself again, and then he felt her hands at his hips. When he looked back at her she nodded, and he nudged the stallion into motion.

*****

It was on the tip of his tongue. _Where's Merlin? What happened? Where were you? What did they do to you? How did you get away?...... Is he dead?_

But he couldn't push the words out of his mouth. He was warring with the relief at finding her, the anticipation of their arrival and the king's reaction, and worry for whatever she may have been through. It seemed unfair to bombard her. She would be swarmed when they got back to Camelot, and Arthur had already learned to clamp down on his worry for Merlin. Holding his tongue was easier than he expected it to be.

When he felt Morgana's head rest between his shoulders, and her arms slip further around his waist, his resolve to stay quiet was firm. He would leave the ride back in peace.

He took a gloved hand off the reigns and placed it over hers, gripping her fingers. He kept it there, knowing they were both strong-willed and unwilling to show weakness, and both needing to feel the other's presence in the silence.

*****

It had been two weeks since Morgana's return, and Arthur was no closer to understanding the events of the last year for her.

All she had been able to provide was that she was kept bound and sightless, and never in range of any conversation that gave away the captor's intentions. She said that there had been a stint in one place that lasted what felt like more than half the year, but she had no idea where it was.

When she got free, they'd been moving her again. She claimed to have worked the ropes that bound her over time until she broke free and ran in the middle of the night.

It was only luck that they had been within Camelot's boundaries, according to her, and she had worked her way from there.

And she had no information on Merlin. She was not even aware he had been taken. She did not hear of him, or have any knowledge of what happened to him. The silence that followed this declaration stated loudly what both of them were thinking. He had been dispatched. He could see it on her face even though she could not confirm it.

He could not take it when he saw Gwen's hand pause in its folding to cover her mouth when she went wide-eyed, having also understood the pregnant silence.

He could not take the look of pity on Morgana's face.

He would not take it. It was not acceptable. He would find him. Whether what he found was a body or not. He would bring Merlin home.

*****

Arthur pushed a palm over his face. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, in night clothes that had been laid out for him by George.

His relationship with the new servant had been a blessing, and that thought alone had been a surprise. George never lost his efficiency, and he sometimes gave in to the temptation to prattle on about the merits of cleanliness and order. But on the whole, he gave Arthur what he needed. Space.

There were no illusions that the hole Merlin left when he disappeared was fillable, and neither Arthur nor George tried to.

A clatter outside his door, made him lift his head, alert. As if thinking of Merlin had suddenly summoned him and his clumsiness.

Arthur darted for the door and flung it open. He peered down the hall in the direction of the noise and saw... Morgana? Disappearing around a corner, cloaked.

He grabbed his jacket, sword belt, and boots by the door and moved into the hall, locking his chambers quickly.

He shoved his feet into his boots and jogged in her direction, throwing his jacket on as he went.

It was obvious she was moving in secret, hoping not to be followed. He paused to give her some distance as she exited out to the courtyard, using the pause to strap the belt around his waist.

He followed her at a distance into the forest, and she wound her way through the trees for hours, following no path that Arthur could discern. But he followed on anyway, ignoring all the pressing curiosities that pounded through his mind.

He managed to keep his bearings as they travelled, and knew they were headed towards the far edge of the forest, when Morgana finally stopped, standing in front of one of Camelot's outer forts.

_Why is she here of all places?_

Arthur watched her slip past the archway and disappear into the fort. He wanted to follow, but was unsure if he should confront her here, or wait for her to emerge and then go in once she had left, and use the clues she left behind to determine her business in the abandoned buildings.

He was saved the decision when he saw her emerge ten minutes later. She was not holding anything new, nor did it appear she had deposited anything, but Arthur could not be sure.

She looked out into the forest, and he ducked behind a tree to stay out of her view. He heard her footfalls heading off further away from Camelot. He was again burdened with the choice to follow her or inspect the fort.

As if in answer, he felt a pull to go into the fort. He was somewhat alarmed by the sudden need to go inside, but he obeyed and moved forward when she was out of site.

He drew his sword, and moved slow and low like a hunter targeting prey.

When he passed the arch, he saw the large wooden door leading into the main hall of the fort, cracked and waiting.

When he approached, he felt something unnatural wash over him and he tensed immediately. Magic. It had to be.

His eyes wide in the dark and alert, he scanned the area. There was no movement and no sign of life.

As if nudged in the back, he took a step forward towards the door, and when he stood just outside the threshold, he could see the gold barrier, a transparent film that he supposed held intruders at bay.

He could not explain it, but he knew, instinctively, that if he put his hand to it, it would yield.

He raised his left hand and let his fingers brush the shimmering barrier, and then watched amazed as they passed through unhindered and the barrier blinked out of existence.

He looked at his hand, feeling as if it had been his touch that had broken the spell. The thought was comforting and terrifying in equal measure.

He looked into the dark of the hall and wished for a torch as he stepped inside.

When his eyes acclimatized to the dark of the space, and he took a moment to look around, he dropped his sword with a clatter that rang full and alarming through the quiet night.

"Oh Gods... Merlin... NO."


	8. Damaged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I am a terrible updater. I KNOW. It is NOT abandoned. If you are still out there, thank you for sticking with me! I love you endlessly.
> 
> I do not own anything about Merlin.

It was on the third day of being back in Camelot that she noticed it.

The first two days had been a whirlwind of embraces, light questions, food, and rest. Anytime someone pushed her for her whereabouts she let her face fall as if talking of it was the last thing she wished to do. And the King bent to her wishes easily and let it drop, only to touch her cheek and restate how happy he was she was finally home.

Now that the flurry had settled somewhat she took note of the changes that had occurred in the last year. Something was off.

She sat on the edge of her bed, Gwen chatting in the background as she gathered a gown for Morgana to wear to lunch with Uther. She caught Gwen's eyes darting to her in regular intervals as if checking to make sure she was still there. And every time, Gwen smiled a small smile, seemingly reassured.

There was something else, though–a lingering question that lurked just beneath the surface of Gwen's words and stories. Something Gwen obviously did not feel comfortable asking.

It was not just Gwen, either. It was everyone (save for the King) who held this slight undercurrent of curiosity when they engaged her, or even just passed her in the large halls of the citadel. Gaius, Leon, several servants, stable hands, kitchen staff, and even to some degree a noble or two. And certainly, most pointedly, Arthur.

There was a heaviness in Camelot that had not been eased entirely by her return, and she felt stupid for not having pinned it for what it was sooner. Merlin.

She laughed, and almost forgot to reign in the ice in her voice.

Of course Merlin had left a mark on Camelot and its inhabitants, and of course they felt his loss deeper than anyone imagined they might until they were faced with it. She had been equally taken in with Merlin. His easy defiance and pure heart. But she saw the other side, didn't she? The ruthless side that would raise a poisonous vial to a friend's lips in the name of Arthur. There was more hiding beneath that inane smile and clumsy facade. Magic. And an instinct to protect Arthur to the death. Even if it was her death. Her gut twisted into something ugly at the memory, and she swallowed against the anger rising in her chest.

"My lady?" Gwen had stilled her hands in Morgana's hair. Somewhere in all of Morgana's musings Gwen had managed to get her into a gown and was now combing through her dark waves.

Clearly Gwen had not said anything that should have been taken as amusing, considering the worrying look her maid was giving her.

"I'm sorry, Gwen." Morgana softened her eyes, smiling, and took Gwen's hand. "I drifted for a moment. I was remembering Arthur as a child, sitting in the mud where I had knocked him down with a wooden sword. He looked so stunned and arrogant even at seven years old."

The lie dripped past her lips easily, and Gwen accepted it, squeezing her hand in understanding. Perhaps she thought it natural that Morgana would reminisce on happier times after such a traumatic capture. She almost laughed again, but the warmth of Gwen's hand was comforting, and it was not so easy to remain cool under her maid's gentle affection.

*****

It was five days later that Arthur came to her with questions.

He had come to her every day since her return, but it was without any real purpose. She suspected he came just to see that she was well. Perhaps on Uther's orders, perhaps under his own steam. She didn't mind it, really. She tried to remain cold and detached, in a constant state of readiness for when Morgause would call upon her. But away from the almost fanatical influence of her sister, it was hard not to stop and watch Arthur and Gwen in particular.

Before, it had felt like the four of them were a team. They rallied around each other to right the wrongs of a tainted King. It felt comfortable and like-minded, and it had made her nightmares more easy to bear before she knew what they really meant.

And where most matters of court and royalty centered around Uther, or her, or Arthur, these little adventures in defiance were always centered around Merlin. He was always somehow right in the thick of things, and inspired an unnatural level of loyalty in all of them (though Arthur would likely never admit such a thing).

Seeing Arthur sitting would-be-casually in a chair across from the table where she took her breakfast, she could see it. That loyalty had not died for him, nor had it for Gwen. Merlin was still loved, and it stirred discomfort up in her belly realizing that if they knew... If they saw what she had done...

No. Why should she feel remorse? He had tried to kill her.

_"But_ she _used you."_ Merlin's last words sounded through her skull like a warning bell. They still plagued her. She despised Uther, that had not changed. And when she ran through the woods into Arthur's waiting arms, playing the damsel in need of rescuing, she had every intention of razing the monarchy to the ground and sparring no last thoughts for a servant who had tried to end her.

"And Merlin?" Arthur had lifted his chin slightly as he asked, a show of certainty that he had every right to inquire after his lost servant.

His voice was even, his gaze steady, as if he was just continuing his causal interrogation about the last year, and this was just the next item on the list. But something in the way he held himself told her that this was the first time he had really gotten to ask–to show any sort of interest in Merlin's disappearance. And she knew without being told it was Uther who had silenced him. Of course it was Uther.

Uther took Arthur's innate need to look after his people, regardless of their station, and tried to stamp it out of his son. It was just another of Uther's crimes.

She still lied to Arthur–told him she was completely unaware of Merlin's whereabouts or even that he had been missing as well. She was protecting herself, and protecting the plan. That is what she told herself later that night laying in bed looking up at the canopy. She had a job to do, and Arthur's pain was just going to have to be a casualty of her war against Uther. He was a Pendragon, and the Pendragon line must fail.

She turned over and curled into a ball under the duvet burying her face in the soft pillow, trying to picture Arthur broken or dead along with Uther–trying to come to terms with it. She cried for the first time since Morgause whisked her away to turn her into a weapon against Camelot.

*****

In the end, it was two weeks after her return home that her resolve to continue keeping Merlin from Arthur broke. It was such a stupid thing.

They sat at the long table dining with Uther, the King warming up with wine and talking amiably to her while Arthur listened in silence, offering a smile here and there when the moment called for it. She looked at George, hovering like a statue against a pillar near Arthur's chair. It was one pillar to the right of the one Merlin used to stand at. As if an unspoken agreement had sprung up between master and servant that the other pillar was Merlin's Pillar, and George would not dare stand next to it. As if he was really gone.

He never looked at Arthur, unless Arthur's glass ran low, and he stepped forward to top it off before stepping back into the shadows again. And Arthur never looked at George.

With Merlin, Arthur was constantly flicking his gaze to him, probably waiting for Merlin to do or say something stupid. And there were times Merlin watched Arthur like a hawk, making no secret of his disdain for some of the topics Uther chose to berate his son with.

They had constantly orbited around each other, and Morgana remembered again being sucked into that orbit along with Gwen. Arthur was reluctant, and constantly tried to push Merlin away or keep him at bay, but Merlin had been relentless and had wormed his way into all their hearts. Even hers.

She lowered her wine glass when the pain hit her. That is why it hurt so bad that he turned on her. She looked at Uther again, careless and yammering, getting a bit more sloppy with drink every minute.

That is what it came down to. All of it. Uther.

If Uther had not waged war on magic, and done so in such a violent and immovable fashion, none of this–none of it would have happened. Morgana would not have feared for her life, and the life of other innocents who fell under Uther's axe. Morgana would not have felt the need to defy her surrogate father, and therefore would not have fell prey to his ire.

Morgause would never have had cause to use Morgana's disenchantment with the King in order to forge herself a puppet to do her bidding.

Morgana's fork clattered to her plate, and it took all her willpower to not bury the knife still loose in her hand into the chest of the idle King before her.

She was no one's puppet. She was no one's loving and obedient ward. If she was not under Uther's iron thumb, then she was under Morgause's, and neither was to her liking.

Both Uther and Arthur rose to their feet at the noise, taking in Morgana's paled expression, not understanding what it was that caused it.

Her eyes slid to Uther, simpering and slightly off kilter with intoxication, then she looked at Arthur who was at her side in an instant, honest and focused. Unselfish.

"Morgana?"

She shook her head a few times and put her hand on his arm when he reached for her.

"It's nothing. I think I've just had too much excitement for one day. I think I shall retire." She stood, Arthur standing by for support without degrading her by forcing it upon her. She gave him the best smile she could muster and swept out, sparing no glance for Uther as she went.

She waited until the cover of nightfall and the silence of the castle to escape into the night.

*****

The clang of the sword hitting the stone floor was still reverberating through the abandoned room when Arthur ran forward.

Merlin was hanging suspended by his wrists from a long rope coiled around a large steel hook wedged firmly in the stone of the vaulted ceiling. His feet dangled limply about a foot off of the ground. He was skeletal and completely still, and Arthur's blood ran cold.

There was no time to ponder why Morgana had come here, how she knew where Merlin was.

He grabbed Merlin's legs and lifted him, taking the pressure off of his wrists and shoulders. The grubby pants were the same pants he wore the day he went missing, though they were scarcely tatters hanging from his hips. The rest of him was bare, and up close, the putrid smell of a year of unwashed and neglected skin filled Arthur's nose, along with the faint metallic scent of blood. Arthur scanned Merlin's body for the source of the blood and saw it in a dried trickle down his arms and sides, starting at his wrists. The rope had cut into the skin, but it was not fresh. He had been hanging this way for some time.

Arthur had not yet looked into Merlin's face, had not yet calmed his shaking and breathing enough to try and sense movement in the limpness of Merlin's limbs. He closed his eyes against the fear of what he would see when he looked, what he would feel when he reached a hand up to feel for a pulse underneath the worn skin of Merlin's neck where his head hung low, chin resting on his thin chest.

Arthur held Merlin up one-handed, bringing the other gloved hand to his lips to rip the glove off with his teeth. He closed his eyes for one quick heartbeat, allowing only that short moment to steal himself against finding no pulse. He finally looked up into Merlin's face making to place his fingertips beneath Merlin's jaw. But he jerked back, almost letting Merlin's weight slam down again on his wrists–only catching himself at the last moment, clinging again to Merlin's legs.

Merlin's eyes were open. Not wide or afraid, just... open. But his eyes were not the blue that they should have been. They were gold and still with no flickering of light or life that one usually saw in another's eyes. They were like amber, stone, and they stared doll-like down at Arthur's face without seeing him.

Arthur released a shuddering breath, completely transfixed, his own eyes darting back and forth between Merlin's looking for something. Anything. Life.

He reached up again and pushed his fingers into Merlin's pulse point, holding his own breath and waiting. Several seconds passed, and Arthur's dread crystallized into something hard in his chest.

A beat.

Another beat.

It was not strong, it was not fast, but it was _there_.

Arthur curled his arm back around Merlin's legs and let his forehead rest on Merlin's concaved abdomen, shaking with momentary relief.

He shook himself of it and gathered his wits again. He needed to get him down. He reached for his sword at his belt and cursed loudly into the empty room when he remembered he dropped it at the entryway.

His eyes darted back up to Merlin's to see if the sound of his voice had jolted Merlin–brought those unnatural eyes back to life. It hadn't.

Arthur craned his neck and located his sword. "Hang on, Merlin. Just..." Arthur lowered Merlin back down wincing when he heard the ropes strain under Merlin's weight.

He left Merlin to dangle again and ran for his sword snatching it up quickly and bringing it back. He braced his feet and grabbed Merlin's legs again before placing the sword at the place where the ropes bound Merlin's wrists together.

With a sharp stroke, the ropes cut and Merlin's body fell forward.

Arthur let the sword clatter to the floor again catching Merlin awkwardly and guiding him to flop over Arthur's shoulder.

He was so light. Far too light. Merlin was thin and had always been thin, but this was like carrying a child. A very tall, alarmingly still child.

Arthur hoisted him further onto his shoulder and bent awkwardly to grab his sword again, shifting Merlin's weight to replace it in his scabbard. He had no idea how he was going to get Merlin home fast enough. The beat of his heart made Arthur fear he had only moments left, not the hours it would take for Arthur to trek back towards Camelot carrying another man.

When he righted himself he took one last look around the room, taking a moment to answer all the burning questions about Morgana and why she had been here, why she had come here, and he hoped that something in the room would give it away.

He wasn't sure what made him do it, but he looked up. In the dim light he could make out several–five, maybe?–figures hanging from the ceiling. They appeared to be some kind of dolls, but they were featureless and sinister, only crude representations of a human form. They made him feel sick when he looked at them, as if their purpose had already been served, and they were no longer active, but their intent was still lingering in the air.

There was no time now, all of these questions would have to be answered later, once Merlin was back safe in Camelot. And he would be. Safe. Arthur would get him back. Back home and back to life.

*****

The time it took him to walk back to Camelot was doubled with the extra burden. At some point he had shifted Merlin into his arms, cradling the body against his chest once he found himself on more regularly trodden paths. As he approached close enough to see the citadel in the distance, he heard the warning bell sounding. With relief, his eyes found a frantic Leon galloping towards him with several other knight's in tow. Some of them still in bandages from previous outings to find Morgana.

Leon pulled his horse to a skidding stop in front of them and made to dismount, but Arthur stopped him.

"No, just take Merlin back to Gaius. Quick."

Arthur hoisted Merlin's body up towards Leon, far too easily, and laid him over the horses neck across Leon's legs. Leon put a firm hand on Merlin's lower back and nodded without question before turning his horse and returning the way he came at a slightly slower pace, but with all the urgency Arthur had entrusted him with.

One of the other knights, Owain, had dismounted and handed Arthur a water skin. "Take my horse, Sire."

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and passed him by without a word. Normally he might have argued, insisting that he made it out here on foot, he could make it home on foot, but this time he needed to be there. He was relieved that Merlin was being sped towards help, but it was difficult to stomach having him out of sight again. He mounted and rode hard towards Camelot.


End file.
